Whip Whitaker is a high-functioning alcoholic, and if that seems like a contradiction in terms -- well, so is Whip. He is a veteran, from a family of veterans. He is a commercial jet pilot, a man who is routinely responsible for hundreds of lives. On the job he is charming, confident and utterly in control.

He's also, usually, drunk. Which is pretty much the shape he's in one rainy morning, when he pulls his jet up high above the clouds -- and suddenly the equipment fails. And it's all up to him.

This is the basic story of "Flight," but there are a lot of other stories here, too, along with the film's contention that life has no "random events."

This faith in a kind of karma runs through director Robert Zemeckis' films, from "Contact" through "Cast Away." Destiny pops up again here in Whip's life, where a chance encounter or unplanned event often leads him in a new direction.

Unfortunately, Zemeckis is no closer to articulating this philosophy in "Flight" than he was in "Forrest Gump." What's meant to feel like kismet more often seems like contrivance, the hand of fate more often resembling the nimble fingers of a screenwriter.

Yet if, like all of Zemeckis' films, "Flight" is never quite as cosmic as it thinks it is, it's a well-made and compelling drama, with a full-out performance by Denzel Washington in the lead.

He's Whip Whittaker, of course, and the first scene - with Washington ogling the naked woman strolling around his motel room while swigging an early-morning beer and fighting with his ex-wife -- thrillingly recalls his role in "Training Day." Whip is trouble, and troubled -- but Washington's charisma shows us his lethal charm.

The next scenes also show us Zemeckis' strength as a director, as we follow Whip onto that plane -- and, once we're aloft, run first into turbulence, then engine failure. What comes next is concisely edited, tightly shot and -- though mostly bloodless -- horrifying. (This is not a film to see the week before a scheduled flight.)

As the story goes on, it deepens. Whip meets a woman in the hospital, a burn-out with her own substance issues; he also begins to get questions from investigators, who suspect he was drinking. He was, but Whip insists that wasn't a factor; the plane crashed because of its failure, not his -- he actually saved lives.

That's a smart detail that, while seeming to endorse our hero's view of himself as someone who can "handle" his drinking, also raises the recovery stakes. Does a heavy drinker actually need to kill someone before cutting back? Does he truly need to reach bottom? And would he even recognize it when he did?

The English actress Kelly Reilly (who looks a little like the once-ubiquitous Jessica Chastain) is an interesting choice as Nicole, the damaged beauty Whip clings to. And John Goodman is funny -- perhaps too funny -- as Whip's drug-dealing crony, a pony-tailed pusher who could be a big brother to Walter Sobchak of "The Big Lebowski."

But this is Washington's movie, from beginning to end, and full of little layers. All drunks are liars, perhaps, but so are actors, and Washington's work is an award-worthy performance of a performance -- the way Whip keeps up a line of patter while stealing a drink, the way his chin begins to wobble even as he pushes his emotions away.

And although Zemeckis' profundities can be as strictly '70s dorm-room as his dusty soundtrack choices (please, can we have a moratorium on "Gimme Shelter"?) his unfussy yet striking compositions, easy command of action sequences and dependable ability to deliver payoffs make this a strong, engrossing, completely adult drama.

One with a truly indelible, uncomfortably human character at its heart - a damaged, hurting man who is nonetheless compensating, coping, functioning. Until one day he's not.